


Small steps, large leaps

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: Inktober 2017 - Dragon Age [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Eluvians, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Grey Wardens, Inktober, Long-Distance Relationship, Mages, Skyhold, Smut, Travel, Warden Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: Inktober 2017 Dragon Age Prompt: Inquisitor + Hero of Ferelden“Arcane warrior, battle mage, evoker - there are far too many names to describe what I am.” She caught Elisara’s gaze as they stepped into the quiet of the hall. “I prefer Vhera, when no one is insisting on calling me Hero, or Commander.”A grin flashed across her face, and she laughed lightly. “We would be good friends Vhera, I think. If we had time. Please, call me Elisara.”Writing Masterpost, organized by main character.





	Small steps, large leaps

Well, Morrigan wasn’t the last person she would have expected to stroll nonchalantly into her camp, but she was fairly close.

“Hello, Warden.”

The Chasind mage’s superior tone and arrogant smirk were unmistakably familiar, and the passage of nearly a decade had changed her appearance little. Vhera’s mind flashed back to the last time she had seen Morrigan, disappearing warily through an Eluvian in the depths of the world.

“Did you change your mind about dying or about telling me the truth?” Her voice was casual, deceptively mild and polite. Power rippled through her as she sat by the small cookfire, crystallizing into a long, deep green blade in her right hand. Her greatsword rested nearby as well. It was probably a demon anyway, she thought, settling her weight onto the balls of her feet. Her back was to the outer wall of the ruin that sheltered her campsite from the few prying eyes that might wander this desolate waste deep in the Hunterhorns.

Morrigan stopped on the other side of the campfire, crossing her arms and sighing in exasperation. “After all our time together, you still hold that against me?”

A small smile turned up her thin lips, chapped from the dry wind. “Yes. You only ever did what was best for yourself, Morrigan.” The silver griffon of the Wardens shone on the heavy breastplate of the blood-red armor she wore, which doubled the size of her petite elven frame. Vhera set down her notes on the stone beside her. If this was a demon, it would underestimate her ability, as everyone did. Strength and speed hummed through every bone and curve of her slight body, and she bore years of training with Alistair and the Wardens as scars and layers of hard muscle.

She narrowed her eyes at Morrigan as they stared warily at each other across the fire. Why would a demon show up now? The Veil was strong here, from what she sensed. Her aura was… different than she remembered from years ago. Steadier, more controlled. A demon would not think to change something so subtle, would it?

Morrigan spoke suddenly, rolling her eyes. “My son Kieran and I have been at Skyhold, with the Inquisition.”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes.

“You think that I might be a demon, yes?” Her tone was lecturing, as it had always been. Morrigan had the unfortunate habit of treating her like a child. “No demon in your mind would know that I was at Skyhold, or even that you would care.” The smile on her face was kinder and more genuine that Vhera remembered ever seeing before.

“This is not Skyhold. How are you here, and why?” She slowly stood, settling her grip on the summoned sword. Alistair was at Skyhold, or had been recently, and the thought made her heart ache for a thousand reasons.

Morrigan’s painted lips quirked sideways at the blunt comment, and she laughed. The sound was bright and sharp in the dark, wild, ruin. Vhera sighed. Morrigan laughing at her was nothing new either. Even when she had been willing to teach her how to shift her form into that of a spider and a wolf, she had taunted her.

“Obviously. As to how I am here, it would be simpler to just show you. Why, though… why is complicated. In short, I overheard Alistair telling the Inquisitor where you were, and a…” She hesitated, as if the word was still unfamiliar to her, “friend convinced me that I should help, if I could.”

“A friend?” Surprise and incredulity filled her voice. “The years must have changed you more than it appears.”

“Look, do you want to see your dear, sweet, Alistair before he leave the fortress or not? I cannot travel to your stronghold at Weisshaupt, Vhera.”

She glanced around the camp warily. No one in her party would be back for two days, at least. She was on her own. If it was real, if Morrigan was telling her the truth… she shook her head sharply.

“Even if that were possible, I cannot abandon my task here. It is far more important than seeing Alistair right now.”

“I can bring you back.”

The fire flared, sparks skittering across the stone as a hot, fierce wind blew into the camp.

Vhera rolled the crackling sword over her hand, spinning it in an unconscious gesture. “Show me how.”

They headed down into the bowels of the ruin, Morrigan striding confidently toward the farthest chamber. The only reason that she had been able to enter was her own magic, as the entire chamber was warded against those who did not possess the ability. There was only one item inside - an intact eluvian. Now she knew how Morrigan had arrived so unexpectedly.

“You know how to activate it, don’t you?”

The dark-haired woman paused, her hand hovering just above the stone door. She smirked, glancing over her shoulder at Vhera.

 

* * *

 

Elisara sat in the branches of the largest apple tree in the garden at Skyhold, and the moon shining high in the clear night sky was but a silver crescent, a sliver of icy beauty among the stars. Movement caught her eye and a short, heavily armored woman strode cautiously down the stone steps into the garden. The heavy crossguard of a greatsword rose over one shoulder, lying across her back at an angle, but she walked easily under the heavy burden.

The moonlight glimmered on a pearlescent clip holding back light brown shoulder-length hair, her slender pointed ears lying close against her head. She bore simple, dark tattoos on her face, but they matched no pattern of vallaslin she knew. A rather impressive sight, she thought. This Warden appeared slighter than herself, but wore as much armor as Blackwall.

“Andaran atish’an. Well met, Hero of Ferelden.” Elisara called out quietly from her perch.

The armored elf shifted immediately, hand flashing to the hilt of the sword, movements quick and guarded. From behind her, Morrigan called out. “It’s alright, Warden. That is the Inquisitor.”

“Forgive me, Inquisitor.” She straightened, hand dropping to her side as she looked up into the tree. “Morrigan is not always the most… forthcoming of traveling companions.”

Elisara dropped lithely out of the tree, nodding politely to Morrigan.

“Inquisitor.” She returned the gesture and walked into Skyhold.

“I’d been told that you were a mage, not a warrior, but you are most welcome here at Skyhold, Warden.” Elisara gestured toward the stairs leading into the main hall. She glanced around the garden again, noting where they had entered before falling into step beside her.

“Arcane warrior, battle mage, evoker - there are far too many names to describe what I am.” She caught Elisara’s gaze as they stepped into the quiet of the hall. “I prefer Vhera, when no one is insisting on calling me Hero, or Commander.”

A grin flashed across her face, and she laughed lightly. “We would be good friends Vhera, I think. If we had time. Please, call me Elisara.” She opened the door into Solas’s rotunda, feet moving easily along the familiar path to the library. “There will be time to speak more in the morning.”

The footsteps behind her stopped, and she turned back from the stairs to look into the rotunda. Vhera was staring at the frescoes covering half of the impressive structure. “These are…” She looked perplexed. “These are newer than they ought to be. They are elvhen frescoes as I have only seen in the oldest ruins, and then only in fragments.” She tentatively rested her fingers on the lines of the nearest image.

“That is correct.” Solas’s crisp, rolling tones sounded softly from across the room. He rose smoothly from the couch, one finger marking his place in a book. “I painted them myself, having learned of the technique while walking in the Fade. Welcome to Skyhold, Hero of Ferelden.”

Vhera stared at him, nodding slowly as she turned, taking in the sight again. “I thank you, sir, for this privilege.”

Elisara leaned on the doorframe, catching Solas’s eyes with a small smile. “Vhera, this is Solas, one of our own masters of magic, particularly where the Fade is concerned.”

“An honor, Master Solas.” She shook herself slightly, turning again to follow Elisara.

They passed into the library and Elisara paused with her hand on the outer door. Her keen ears picked up two men’s muffled voices on the other side. She looked to Vhera, who glanced at her as she too, heard the voices.

“Is that Alistair? I half thought Morrigan had deceived me.” The hope in her voice was obvious, tempered with disbelief.

She just smiled and opened the door, recognizing the second voice as well - Hallen. The two women stepped out onto the balcony, and saw the two men silhouetted on the balcony across from them. It would seem they had nearly crossed paths with them on their way here from the garden.

“Look, Hallen. I appreciate the gesture, I really do.” He chuckled. “But I’m really quite comfortable in the barracks tower with the other soldiers.” Alistair’s broad back was toward them, covered by a dark grey tunic belted at the waist. Even from there they could see that his hair was tousled, messier than it usually was during the day.

“Alistair, you deserve a few nights of peace before you are back on the road.” The stocky elf’s gaze rose over Alistair’s shoulder, and Elisara met her brother’s eyes in the moonlight. Hallen inclined his head toward the warrior, stepping past him with a smile as Vhera slipped past Elisara. “I bid you goodnight, Warden.”

“But I don’t--” His words stalled as he turned, catching sight of Vhera striding toward him. “How?” He glanced about for Hallen, who disappeared into Dorian’s room. His feet took him forward of their own volition, closing the distance between himself and the armored elf.

Elisara watched with a smile as they collided, Alistair wrapping Vhera in a tight embrace despite the discomfort the heavy plate armor must have caused him. The long scabbard of her sword scraped against the stone battlements as he lifted her off her feet, spinning the two of them in a circle with a joyous laugh. He must have eventually recalled the room, and looked rather younger than usual as he sheepishly opened the door.

Vhera paused before following him, turning to give her a soldier’s salute in thanks, one arm pressed to her chest as she bowed. She inclined her head by way of acknowledgement before returning back into the library, and to Solas.

 

* * *

 

 She _tried_ to scan the room out of habit, but Alistair’s lips were on hers in a warm, full, kiss as soon the door closed. They both chuckled at her surprise, but the desperation in the way he wrapped her armored body in his arms made her heart ache. He buried his face against her slender neck, breathing deeply. She just held him for a long moment, running her fingers through his thick golden hair.

“Andraste’s Light, Kitten, I don’t know how you got here, but if my heart soars any higher I might float away.” His voice was muffled, and rough with emotion. “I thought months would pass before I saw you again.”

“I barely know how I got here, ‘Stairi.” His unruly hair was tickling her long ears, as it often did. “It seems you have found incredible people in the darkest of days, as always.”

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it yet.” His arms loosened, and she saw a hint of true fear flash through his gentle brown eyes. “I owe those two my life a few times over already.”

“Worse than the archdemon?” It took a lot to bother a veteran Warden like Alistair, and the hesitation in his response told her just how bad it really was.

“At least we knew what to expect with the Blight.” He started unbuckling her armor automatically, fingers tugging at straps almost as familiar as his own. She pulled off her gauntlets and worked on the upper buckles on her greaves while he detached her pauldrons.

“This is…” He caught her eyes as he began piling her armor and weapons on the nearest of several chairs in the room. “It’s like an Archdemon with a master more brutal and vicious than the Architect, with power beyond anything that has been seen in Ages. I don’t think that we knew even a fraction of how bad Corypheus could become, or we would surely have entombed him in stone at the bottom of the sea. Dorian, a Tevinter mage here with the Inquisition, thinks that the bastard is one of the original Black-city magisters.” There was a haunted edge to his voice that worried her, but he brushed her lips with a kiss as he started dismantling her breastplate.

“Trying to make my own task sound easy?” She said dryly.

A grin and a chuckle served as his response, but they faded to sorrow far too quickly.

“'Stairi, what is it?” Vhera pulled the breastplate off over her head, catching his eyes as he tried to take it from her.

“Too many good Wardens have been lost in this fight. It seems likely that hundreds are dead already, or worse - enslaved to that Blighted monster.” His eyes were hard, and uneasy. “You might find a cure to the Calling and return to find you’re the only Warden left.”

Vhera’s armor clanked and scraped against the stone wall as the added breastplate overbalanced the chair, nearly dumping the entire ensemble on the floor in a cacophonous heap. Two very different feet caught the legs of the chair, slamming it back upright with a thunk. She slid the chair back against the wall and pulled a supple chainmaille hauberk over her head as she mulled over her partner’s dire words. The added pile of steel and leather weighted the chair down further.

She had barely started to roll the stiffness out of her shoulders when Alistair’s big hands wrapped over them from behind. “Unnnghhh…” Eyes falling closed, she relaxed her weight back into his hands. His thumbs stroked slowly down her neck and spine, fingers massaging deeply, smoothing across the hard curves of her muscled shoulders. “You had better be here too. Mmhhm. Or I will hunt you down in the Fade myself… It would not be the first time.”

Fingers slid down her chest and loosened the ties of her battered, dirty tunic. She undid the ties at her wrists, and Alistair tossed it onto the pile. Lines of depressing grey sand and grit covered her forearms and halfway down her chest, ending sharply at the snug breastband now in his hands. Leaning her head back as he pulled her against his broad chest, Vhera finally glanced around the room. His hands roamed slowly over her bare stomach and the small peaks of her breasts.

“Oh!” She gasped, 'Stairi chuckling at her sharp intake of breath. “Look up,” she said, pointing to the shimmering sky above their heads.

“Wooww.” He drew the word out, ending with the silly, adorable chuckle that she had fallen in love with over a decade ago. “Hallen’s a pretty amazing guy.” The stars shone above them, a silvered crescent moon just now edging its way into view.

It was a shield, she realized quickly, the energy of the normally short-lived spell woven and smoothed into a crystal-clear dome covering the room. The faint hum of magical energy was barely noticeable, especially with her aura sunk deep into her bones, supporting her martial abilities. She tilted her head to one side as she looked around further, easing her magic back to into its normal state. It was like sloughing off an ogre’s weight, an ironic weight that lightened her every step and swing. “Why is there a tree in his room?”

“No idea, my dear. ‘Dalish’ is probably a good start.” Alistair pointed to a basin and bucket of water half hidden by the green branches. “He does have a wash basin, I think.”

Vhera tried to step forward, and one foot moved sluggishly across the floor, her armored boot now feeling heavier than usual. “Mmmmph. Boots… This is why my guard is always up.”

He knew exactly what had happened. The sound she made as he pulled her nearly flat ass snugly back against his hips was a mix of desire and entertainment. Oh, it felt so good to be back with him. The much taller Warden straightened, longer legs carrying the two of them easily over to the basin of water.

The strong line of his jaw was so perfect and familiar in her slim, tough hands, and she kissed him deeply after he set her down. A pleased hum against her lips spoke to his own happiness, as did the hands insistently removing her pants. She broke the kiss with a quick smile.

“Boots first.” He chuckled at her, pressing close. “It has been almost a week since I had everything off.”

It didn’t take them much longer to disrobe completely and clean the dust of the western wastes from Vhera’s skin. There was an entire barrel of water behind the tree, with a spout, and spare cloths for washing. Given that there were also plates of light food on the table, and extra cups to match the pitcher of water, it seemed that the room had been prepared for visitors.

Long smooth strokes, calloused hands caressing her body. Every touch sent shivers through her, chasing weariness away as nothing else ever did. She stretched, arms high overhead, aching muscles finally beginning to relax. His lips were warm, hot whispers of breath trailing tender kisses up her neck, and his fingers cradled her ass as he lifted her by the back of her thighs. Long and hot, his rod pressed against the heat of her as she wrapped her legs around his narrow waist. Hard, lean muscles corded under her thighs, layers of strength built from a decade of battling darkspawn.

Oh, she was so glad to be here. Far from familiar ground, long miles standing between her and her goal, but home in her heart and in her arms. She owed them a debt, those who brought her to Alistair… Morrigan, nearly a decade gone, and two Dalish elves she had never met before today. Elisara must be quite a person, to attract such a following for the Inquisition.

Brown eyes met hers with a smile full of love, care, and a deep, unforgettable passion. Some things had never changed since the day she met him, arguing with a mage at Ostagar. His open heart and ready hands had earned him many allies, even among nobles and grizzled Wardens twice his age.

Alistair rocked his weight back slightly and just held her for a long, intense moment. They simply stood there, entwined and naked in the center of the room. She held his gaze and kissed him slowly, rolling her hips sensually in his grasp. Wet folds parted easily around his shaft as she slid her fingers deep into his golden hair.

“Vhera… you are a rare and wonderful woman.” His tender words belied the heat in his voice, and the slick hardness rising between her thighs. He stepped over to the bed and flipped back the thick blankets, one arm holding her slim, muscled body easily. Alistair’s thighs pressed her tighter to him as he sat, sweet pleasure flaring like fire in her loins.

“Mhhhmmm…” She curled toward him, lips parting as her words were stolen by the firmness rolling against her tight bud. Little things, the youthful smirk tilting his lips, the slow rock of his hips beneath her, everything reminded her of their impossible love, blossoming in the darkest hours of the Age. “It takes an incredible person like you to find strength among the horrors we have faced.”

“Hmmm, lucky I found you then,” his lips whispered along the edge of her ear. A soft chuckle sent delicious vibrations flickering through her tender flesh. She dripped with need, the curve of Alistair’s rod sliding freely against her soaked folds.

Slowly, achingly tender, he lay back on the bed so that she knelt, straddling his hips. Slipping forward, she settled her weight deliberately over his swollen head, the hot, dripping tip pressing firmly against her bud, shaft long and---

“Ohh!” Curling her toes into his thighs, a fast wave of ecstasy rushed through her.

The smirk she saw now was sensual, enjoying her pleasure. “You’re soaked, my dear,” he whispered, strong hands curled around her ass rocking her rhythmically against him. Small, smooth circles that brought his head close to her tight opening.

“Mmmmhhhh…” Maker, she wanted him in her. This was how they always were - running from dry tinder to an incensed smolder in a few moments. The mismatched pillows beneath his head caught her eye, prompting a coherent thought. “Will they mind? Your elven friend?”

  
“Hallen?” He parted the flesh of her small, firm ass, laying the entire length of his rod flush against her.

“Their room, their bed…” So long beneath her, so long since he had been with her. She held tight control of her thoughts as she arched against Alistair. “Maker, 'Stairi,” she hissed breathlessly, “the bed we are coupling in right now!”

A pensive look tugged at his forehead for quick moment. “No, he won’t mind, love.”

In one fluid motion she lifted her hips, his length springing erect beneath her as she rose. It was his turn to groan as she aligned their bodies and sheathed him in a smooth, familiar, stroke. His tousled head snapped back into the pillow and his fingers tightened on her ass.

Every bit of her was full, muscles stretching around him. Too full, every time, and he reached everywhere within her that ached to be touched. She leaned back against his thighs, wrapping her strong, slender hands around his wrists. He held her eyes, dark and half-closed with desire as they fell into their own personal rhythm. He boosted her up, she slid down his length, and with each stroke tonight he sped their pace.

She flexed her hands on his arms as her heart raced. Every thrust was as deep as she wanted, feeling him for every glorious second. He worked in her again and again until waves of sparks became a white-hot bolt of pleasure. Every muscle snapped tight around him as she arched against his thighs, throwing her head back with a rush of breath.

Alistair let out a long, deep groan, seed rushing into her as he came. His hips lifted them from the bed, her legs tight along his sides.

“Vhera…” Her name was always the first thing on his lips after he spent himself, his warm voice the only thing she heard as he rocked slowly within her.

Stars shone before her, glimmering high above them as opened her eyes. Her hips rolling languidly in his hands set off a quick burst of sparks, bright and beautiful as the stars. She relaxed against his legs as her heart finally slowed, brown hair splayed over his knees, head still thrown back.

He slid one hand up along her stomach, smoothing over her ribs, curving over her small breast. She shivered as the light sheen of sweat on her stomach began to cool in the night air, tan nipples pebbled under his playful touch.

“Mmmm… you are quick and glorious, as always.” Her voice was thick with pleasure and sleep, and she wanted nothing more than for Alistair to wrap her in his arms. They slept with each other whenever possible, whether encamped on the road, in the Warden strongholds, or as guests of various nobility over the years. The iridescent shield above them was far more beautiful than their ramshackle tent during the Fifth Blight, though.

  
Alistair knew her to the depths of her soul, and she was soon beside him, his gentle hands wiping them mostly clean with a dry cloth from the wash basin. They both chuckled quietly as he tossed it toward the tree - they could deal with that in the morning.

For now, they were ensconced in the warm blankets of his friend’s bed at Skyhold, and he reached out to touch a golden crystal glowing on the dresser nearby. She was already drifting off as the light dimmed to almost nothing. He tenderly kissed her forehead, wrapping both arms around her slender body so that she was snuggled cozily against his chest. Her feet barely reached the middle of his calves, and she sleepily wriggled one leg over his hip beneath the thick blankets.

“Sleep well, my dear.”

“Mhmmm. I love you, 'Stairi.”

“I love you too, Kitten, in this world or any other.”


End file.
